


One good turn deserves another

by Oriberry



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Regina trying to be helpful, magical fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 15:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriberry/pseuds/Oriberry
Summary: Mr Gold is on the receiving end of a matchmaking intervention that involves magic and mistletoe. Shame it's July, searingly hot and that Miss French is less than amused.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s one of those incredibly hot humid summer mornings when at just past nine o’clock the air is heavy with unshed moisture and every action, no matter how small, feels laboured. Gold thinks wistfully of cool Scottish weather, with hints of mist and heather, as he fiddles with the keys to the front door of his shop.

He’s so distracted by pleasant thoughts of rain and shetland sweaters that he fails to notice the package that’s resting on the doormat until his cane knocks against it. Frowning he bends down and picks it up, carefully examining it for clues although there’s not much to tell other than it’s smallish, roundish, covered in silver wrapping and festooned with crimson ribbons. He can’t see a card so no hint there as to his mysterious benefactor. 

He casts an eye up and down the street in the hope of perhaps spotting whoever dropped the parcel off but the only person in sight is Belle, en route to opening up the library via the pawnshop for their daily cup of tea and gossip. She spots him and waves cheerily. He brandishes the package back at her in response and waits until she arrives, panting slightly, tiny beads of moisture along her hairline. 

Drawing level with him, a range of expressions flit across her face. Intrigue, as she takes in the fact that he’s holding a shiny gift wrapped parcel, swiftly followed by a look of complete disbelief when she sees that despite the temperature already hitting the 90s he’s still wearing a suit and that neither the jacket nor the owner are melting.

“Overdressed as usual I see, Mr Gold,” she comments, but there’s no malice in her voice, just a hint of amusement. As usual, Belle is exquisitely turned out, today sporting a yellow chiffon dress that’s so bright it makes the sun look dull, and shoes that must have taken her about an hour to put on this morning judging by the number of thin straps that wend their way around her ankles. At least one of them had the sense to dress appropriately for the climate.

He doesn’t bother replying, contenting himself with a quiet huff that he knows she’s heard and ushers her over the threshold. Perhaps as a concession tomorrow he'll forego the tie.

He places the parcel on the counter and together they study it in silence until Belle can bear the suspense no longer.

“Well, it’s not going to eat you, Mr Gold. Surely you’re dying to know what it is.”

She’s such a curious thing.

“Only one of us is dying here, Miss French, and it isn’t me.” He slants his eyes to watch her as, unable to resist, she leans forward to tap the wrapping, which rustles almost as if it’s sensate, before running her forefinger along one of the ribbons.

Lucky ribbons.

Belle hums to herself and he sees that she’s chewing on her lower lip. He knows from bitter experience that this does not bode well. She’s thinking and when Belle thinks, trouble usually follows. He waits patiently, biding his time. Eventually, she turns to him, and he sees something close to doubt in those wonderfully blue eyes of hers, making them less bright than usual. 

“I didn’t know you had a secret admirer?” Belle mutters and Gold’s genuinely taken aback, both at the statement itself and the tone in which it’s said.

Why on earth would she think he has a secret admirer? He’s not exactly known as a ladies man and he can count the dates he’s been in the past five years on one hand. Women aren’t exactly flocking to his door, and Belle and he have spent enough time together for her to know this.

And yet - and yet she’s asked the question, and in a strangely accusatory tone, her voice lacking its usual vivacity. If it was anyone else, he’d think they were jealous but he’s completely out of her league, and even if he wasn’t nearly 20 years her senior, she’s got men flocking after her. (He has to admit that he’s somewhat baffled at her apparent lack of interest in any of them but she’s adamant that none of them are intellectually challenging enough to make her want to get to know them.) 

Which is so much the better for him. He’d hate to lose her company. She’s become a very good friend - in fact his only friend, if you discount Madam Mayor and the Sheriff who are now together thanks to a little gentle persuasion (and three drops of a potent magical elixir to help things along).

Gold realises that while his mind has been wandering, the silence in the shop has continued to grow between them like a yawning chasm and and it’s ridiculous - they’re both making a mountain out of a molehill. Obviously the present has been delivered in error so the sooner it’s opened, the sooner the mystery is solved, the sooner the gift can be returned to its rightful owner and he and Belle can have a cup of tea and share a blueberry muffin. And then the world will spin on its axis once more.

“Right, let’s see what this is,” Gold says in a voice he realises a moment too late is artificially jolly (if the look of surprise on Belle’s face is any indication) so he occupies himself in hunting down a pair of scissors before carefully cutting away the wrapping. A few seconds later and he’s conscious that Belle has moved so she’s standing right next to him. Heat and anxiety is rolling off her in waves and if she carries on chewing her lip like that she’s going to gnaw a hole in it.

He still doesn’t know what’s making her so unhappy but selfishly, he is not at all unhappy to have her sharing his personal space. A hint of citrus assails his nostrils and a stray curl brushes against his shoulder as she leans in for a better look. 

Gold muses on how long he can draw out the parcel unwrapping process before she catches on to his ruse. 

Sadly a couple of snips and tugs and the cellophane is off to reveal a small wicker basket inside which nestles a dark green wreath of thin leaves topped by glistening white berries. It’s not much to look at to be honest and Gold can’t help a little flicker of disappointment. After all that fuss, this is what’s inside? 

Belle cranes her neck forward to get a better look and Gold notices that she’s giving her lip a well deserved break and some of the tension seems to have left her.

“That’s it, huh?”

“It would appear so. Let me - uh - just see if there’s a note hidden away.”

Gold delves around and with a victorious cry retrieves a small white envelope, tucked down the side of the basket. His name is on the cover in an elegant script that reminds him of Regina’s handwriting. On ripping it open, he frowns when he sees he’s right to be suspicious.

“One good turn deserves another. R.” 

Gold is suddenly filled with foreboding and he’s just in the process of taking a closer look at the arrangement when the lettering on the card vanishes, to be replaced with: “You’ll thank me for this later.”

He’s no idea what Regina’s playing at but it can’t be anything good, that he is sure of, so is wistfully thinking of the million ways he could kill his former pupil slowly and painfully when Belle cries out in alarm. Lifting his head sharply he sees that the stems of the wreath are writhing slowly up Belle’s arm, reaching out for her head. He’s glued to the spot for just a second too long and by the time he’s come to his senses and is blasting the foliage with his magic, it’s too late. Belle is now sporting a rather fetching crown and the berries wobble merrily each time she tries to remove it. It appears it’s stuck fast.

“Belle, does it hurt, are you alright?” Gold asks breathlessly.

Belle glares at him - the effect somewhat spoiled by the way the berries are bouncing happily against her forehead - and asks with some asperity what’s going on and more importantly what is he going to do about it. She smacks a couple of berries off her face and Gold is almost sure he can hear them giggle.

He glances down at the counter. The note has helpfully updated itself, so at least he now knows what he’s dealing with. Enchanted mistletoe. In July. If he wasn’t so livid with her, he’d almost be impressed with Regina’s sense of humour. As it is he has more pressing things to deal with. Namely a deeply annoyed librarian. An evergreen parasite that’s running amok. And spells to make and break.

The note flutters on the desk as if it wants to grab his attention so he snatches it up. 

“It started with a kiss.” 

And then the paper bursts into silver flames and vanishes.

He grits his teeth. He will not be tricked by the matchmaking mayor into forcing himself on the lovely innocent Miss French. He can’t and he won’t.

Putting on his most confident smile he turns to Belle. It’s time for tea and a spot of research.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s early evening and Gold is hot, bothered and not a little weary. It’s probably safe to say that today has absolutely not gone to plan, if Belle’s shocking blue hair and the way every now and then she hiccups green smoke are anything to go by.

He’s tried everything in his magical repertoire to banish the mistletoe wreath from Belle’s head but to no avail. Mentally he ticks off each of his failed attempts. First there was the explosion that blew up a shelf of antique glass bottles (perhaps that last teaspoon of ground rabbit’s tooth was a measure too far). He also regrets destroying his collection of first editions (the instructions definitely said to mix the teardrops of a mermaid with the nectar of a freshly opened honeysuckle flower before stirring 180 times clockwise, rather than anticlockwise). Mainly because of how sad Belle had looked at the sight of so many charred pages littering the floor.

Gold is momentarily distracted from cataloguing his failures by the sight of a small paper dragon emerging from beneath a pile of papers where it’d had been skulking for most of the afternoon. Sighing he leans over to retrieve and put it with all the other origami beasts he’d recaptured earlier when he yelps in pain as the dragon sneezes and accidentally sets some filing notes on fire. 

Gold is busy swatting out the flames so he misses Belle leaning over to allow the dragon to sidle along her arm until it’s comfortably nestled into the crook of her neck, where it starts to eye up one of the low hanging berries. Both his assistant and the beast throw triumphant glances Gold’s way and Belle scratches the dragon under its chin.

This day just gets better and better.

Belle breaks into his miserable thoughts to suggest they repair for a tea break and take stock of what they’ve tried so far and what might need to be done next. Gold nods morosely and plops down in a battered old armchair and waits for her to bring the pot over to where he’s sitting.

“Does it hurt, Belle?” he asks for the fiftieth time.

She pours the tea, settles herself down opposite him and shakes her head before hiccupping. The dragon raises its head to watch the train of vapour as it swirls around the room before gently fading away. 

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’ve almost got used to belching green fumes.” She stops when she sees a look of chagrin on Gold’s face. Resuming in a more serious tone, Belle says “Seriously, stop worrying about me and let’s look through these last two books. I’m sure you’ll work out what needs to be done soon enough.” 

Gold hopes he can live up to her blind faith in his abilities as a mage. 

Nodding, he selects a weighty tome closest to him, a large heavy leather-bound volume, and starts to flick through it before glancing up to shoot Belle what he hopes is a reassuring smile. 

“What do you think Regina had planned when she sent the wreath to you. Have you done something recently to annoy her?” 

Gold tries his best not to look shifty. He tries out several facial expressions before settling on one that he hopes conveys nothing more than pure innocence. “I promise you Belle, that I have no idea. The woman’s clearly barking mad.”

Belle’s eyes narrow until he can only see the narrowest strip of blue. 

“You’re such a bad liar, Gold. Go on tell me. I know you know more than you’re letting on.”

Fuck. Not for the first time Gold thinks bad thoughts about Regina meddling in his affairs and also not for the first time, wishes he’d left Regina and Emma to their own devices (although in his defence, he’d acted as matchmaker mainly to save his liver, given the late night counselling the mayor was so fond of seeking).

“Belle, if I knew I would tell you, you know that. I’ve got a couple more tricks up my sleeve and if they don’t work, then there’s something we can try as a last resort. Finish your tea and then let’s get back to work.”

Belle looks as if she wants to argue with him but he’s relieved that in the end she nods and gets to her feet carefully, so as to not dislodge the dragon. 

“Do you want me to take that annoying creature off you? He’s met with two pairs of indignant eyes. 

“Cedric’s not a problem,” Belle says firmly and Gold wisely decides to stay quiet and cache his comments for later. Cedric? Couldn’t she have come up with a better name than that? Instead, he rises to his feet and holds out his arm to her and together they make their way over to take up their battle positions.

00000

Two hours later and Gold has to admit they’re in a bit of a pickle.

On the plus side, Belle’s hair has returned to its natural colour and she's stopped hiccupping.

Unfortunately that’s where the pluses end.

The paper dragon is now the size of a small dog and is currently clawing its way along the curtain rail, lashing its spiky tail from side to side as it goes and pausing every now and then to practice its roaring, when it’s not snapping in the direction of the cuckoo clock which won’t stop cuckooing.

His head really fucking hurts.

 

Tea has long been jettisoned in favour of a bottle of scotch and he notices that Belle’s glass is already half empty.

“D’you want a refill?” he asks and Belle nods, pushing the glass towards him and watches as the amber liquid sloshes around before picking up from where she’d left off. As a delaying tactic it leaves something to be desired.

“So, to recap. You’ve destroyed half the contents of your shop, you’ve acquired a new fire-breathing pet that’s shortly going to be the size of horse, and we’re no further on in getting this” – and she waves her hand in the general direction of the wreath – “removed. Did I miss anything out?” 

Well, she’s nothing if not to the point.

Gold feels his head droop. He’s going to have to confess that he’s known the way to break the spell all along and she is going to kill him. Over and over again. 

“Belle…”

Suddenly, a tiny piece of silver paper comes fluttering through from the front of the shop and delicately lands in Belle’s lap. Instinctively Gold knows what it is and lunges for it at the same time Belle picks it up. She’s quicker than him so all he ends up with is a handful of chiffon and hot cheeks.

Belle slaps his hand away. “Uh uh - it’s got my name on the front,” she admonishes, wagging her finger at him.

Belle peruses the contents as carefully as if she was reading a legal document. Gold watches her closely but there’s nothing to indicate what the note contains. Perhaps he’s worrying for nothing.

“This is interesting,” she says chattily. “It’s from Regina.”

Or perhaps not.

She fixes him with a steady look and then asks rhetorically, “but you knew that didn’t you?”

Sensibly Gold says nothing. Indeed there is quite possibly nothing he can say to dig himself out of this particular hole. He’s been rumbled. He’s a dead man walking.

All he can hear is the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, slow and steady. His mouth is very dry and he’s lost for words. He hopes that Belle will eventually take pity on him and he tries for the most pleading look in his repertoire. It doesn’t appear to be working if the expression on her face is anything to go by; it’s a combination of frustration and sadness.

She starts to read it out loud.

“Dear Belle, I hope this finds you well.” Belle pauses to roll her eyes before continuing, “I had hoped that this note wouldn’t be necessary, that Gold would follow his own advice that he dishes out so liberally to others.”

Now it’s Gold’s turn to roll his eyes. He can imagine only too easily how much pleasure writing this note has given Regina. Insufferable witch.

“However, as the old maxim goes, once a coward always a coward.” Gold grinds his teeth so loudly at this that Belle is startled into pausing for a moment. He takes a sip of his scotch to buy himself some time and to help unlock his jaw.

“I am sick and tired of listening to Gold talking about Belle this and Belle that…” Belle’s voice now has a slight wobble to it and Gold can’t tell if it’s distress or hysteria. He buries his head in his hands so he doesn’t have to find out.

“So the wreath was a test. A test of his courage. A test of his belief in you. I hope he doesn’t let you down Belle because he knows what he has to do. I hope he doesn’t let himself down because deep down he’s a good man.”

There’s a tiny popping noise and the note disappears into the ether. Five seconds later another note appears, this time zooming in and whacking Gold on his head before drifting to the floor. Gold curses loudly as on opening it Regina’s voice booms around the room.

“Gold, just man up, will you, for once in your life.”

He’s so appalled at the turn of events that he doesn’t quite take in the fact that Belle also now has her head in her hands. When he does he’s over to her side before he can think. 

Belle, Belle I’m so sorry, please, love, forgive me. Please Belle, look at me.” In his agitation Gold doesn’t realise the endearment he’s just let slip. Fortuitously she doesn’t pick up on it, mainly because she’s occupied in slapping Gold hard on the arm.

“You idiot, Gold. You prize idiot. Do you mean to tell me that none of this - and she gestures at the disaster zone that is the pawn shop - need have happened?”

He nods dumbly and Belle continues. “So what is this truly awful thing you have to do that you’ve been putting off for the last 12 hours? It’d better be pretty damn good.” Although her words are harsh, there’s a trace of amusement in her voice, but not enough to stop Gold toying with the idea of just poofing himself somewhere a long way away; New Zealand perhaps, that’s nice and remote (and a bit like Scotland in parts so he wouldn’t feel so terribly lonely and homesick). Or perhaps a tropical island, with just palm trees, a calm blue ocean and birds for company. A click of his fingers and he could be safely away from the small yet very determined-looking librarian.

As if she can read his mind, Belle, all hints of mirth gone, says warningly “And don’t even think on bailing out on me. You are not running away from this. From me.”

Fine. Fine, then. She asked so he’ll tell. And let’s see who’s brave then.

“Very well, since you insist on knowing, the wreath will be released if the wearer is kissed three times.” 

Belle’s staring at him now and he cannot for the life of him tell what’s going through her mind. Time continues to tick away and then, finally, she breathes “And is the prospect of you kissing me so awful then?”

“God, no Belle. No - why - why on earth would you – what makes you think that?” Gold is stammering in his haste to reassure her.

Belle’s retort is flung at him. “Because you were prepared to burn the shop to the ground first?” “Because clearly anything is preferable to you having to touch me.”

He’s shocked this is how she’s interpreting his actions.

“You’ve got this all the wrong way round Belle. I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to think I was forcing you into doing something you didn’t want.” The words are being wrenched from Gold but he can’t stand that she thinks she’s at fault here.

They’ve both unwittingly moved closer and closer to each other so that if Gold takes one more step forward they’re going to be touching. 

“Then you shouldn’t be making decisions on my behalf. I’m more than capable of choosing what I do.” Belle sounds exasperated.

Gold nods. “I see that now, truly I do, and I’m sorry.” He gently rubs Belle’s arm and she slowly leans into him, holding his gaze. He decides to fling himself on her mercy. “So, I’m in your hands. It’s up to you. We can see if there’s another spell for us to try or we can - “ and his gaze drops to her mouth for a second, his sentence trailing off.

All he can hear is his heart thumping in his chest as he waits to see what her move is. He wants her to be the one who controls this.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Belle gently presses her lips against his cheek. They feel like silk and Gold can’t help the tiny moan that escapes him.

“One,” Belle murmurs hotly in his ear. 

The mistletoe rustles as if it’s restless but apart from that, there doesn’t seem to be much change.

“Hmmm.” Belle pauses, before whispering, “I think perhaps a little more is being asked of us.” Her breath against his cheek is doing nothing for Gold’s blood pressure. It’s too much, but not enough. 

Perhaps it’s his turn to be a little bolder so he turns to drop a gentle kiss on the corner of Belle’s mouth. He thinks he can taste scotch. Delicious.

“Two.” And boldly he seizes the opportunity to run the tip of his nose down the side of Belle’s neck before coming to a rest where her pulse is beating.

Some of the berries work their way loose and drop to the floor where they bounce happily around until Cedric spots them and with a bellow drops from the doorframe to chase them around the room. Gold and Belle are too caught up in each other to care.

“Well, Miss French, it seems to be working. Maybe it’s third time lucky. Or should that be…” 

Before Gold can finish his rambling musings, Belle leaps at him forcing him back against his worktable, her mouth on his. It’s a kiss that whilst lacking finesse is made up for with enthusiasm. Gold’s arms fold around her, pulling Belle in tight and oh, this feels so right, so good, so - everything he’s ever wanted. He’s lost in the sensations of warmth and wet and teeth and tongues and he moves one hand up to cradle Belle’s head. It’s then that he realises the wreath has gone, that’s she’s free and it brings him up sharp.

He stops abruptly, Belle making a protesting noise in the back of her throat.

“It’s worked. You’re free,” Gold says flatly, starting to gently push her away. Belle’s got what she needed and well, he supposes it’s just a pleasant interlude. 

Suddenly he finds a sharp finger prodding him. “Oh no Mister - you don’t get to do this to me now. What did we just say about you making decisions without discussing them with me first?” 

He mumbles a reply but Belle is having none of it. “I’m going to let you off for now but don’t think we’re not going to sit down and talk about your lack of confidence. But for now, let me just say this and then we’re done talking. You sell yourself too short. Yes, you’re older than me. Yes, you use a cane. But so what? None of that matters to me. What does matter to me is that you’re never boring, you treat me as your equal, and whilst you’re not always the easiest person to deal with, you’re never anything other than straight with me and I’d trust you with my life.”

Gold’s silent, trying to take in what she’s saying. Even to him this doesn’t sound too awful.

Oh and did I mention what you in a suit does to me?”

Now that does sink in. Gold raises an eyebrow suggestively.

“And that you’re hot as fuck.”

He’s never heard Belle use language like that before and it’s sending his blood south. Well, well.

“No Belle. I don’t believe you did. But I’m eager to hear more.”

“Later,” Belle purrs and tugs on his shirt to pull him in closer.

“Later.”


End file.
